


Compromise

by williamspockspeare



Series: Ace in Space [2]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst, Asexual Spock (Star Trek), Asexuality, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Long conversations about feelings and sexualities, M/M, Masturbation, T'hy'la, don't worry folks it always ends well, kind of a sequel but is easily read as a stand alone, showering together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-01 17:08:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20345854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/williamspockspeare/pseuds/williamspockspeare
Summary: "He was painfully aware of his failure. He knew, despite all Jim’s kind protestations to the contrary, that it was only a matter of time until he grew dissatisfied."Concerned that Jim will never be truly happy as his partner, Spock explores if a compromise between their opposing sexualities is possible.





	1. Doubt

Humankind delighted in nothing more than questions.

While Spock appreciated the pursuit of knowledge, that was not the usual impetus for their curiosity. Often, he found humans asked questions with no conceivable or appropriate answer – as if they took pleasure in interrogation itself.

And it was this aspect of human nature Spock found tiresome – particularly when their questions centred on him.

He was too familiar with cross-examinations, having been at the mercy of doubtful observation for most of his life. At every turn, human single-mindedness pried into his affairs.

_Are you sure? You can’t really want that – I know you, Spock – that’s not who you are, deep down, at your core. Do you really think that’s what will make you happy? _

There had been a time when he believed such questions were to his benefit. He had obeyed the whims of his mother, honoured the suggestions of Michael, and followed his superiors’ orders to the letter. But quickly, he discovered every line of questioning seemed to convey a single, underlying assumption. Spock was not living life correctly. Spock was _too_ – and one could insert whatever descriptor served the purpose. From all sides, all creeds, the consensus rang out: Spock was deficient.

And that, he had learned far too late in life, was simply untrue.

It was not merely that his critics believed him inadequate. In ways, he was, as were all beings. But in the purview of humanity in particular, his persistence to live according to his own alien terms was a shocking offence, requiring immediate correction.

Highly illogical. There were over two hundred non-human sentient species in the galaxy, with the likelihood of hundreds more undiscovered. Not all of them would laugh, or cry, or enjoy playing table tennis. There was nothing wrong or lamentable in such a fact, either. Why that was so difficult to understand was baffling.

Nevertheless, Spock continued in his own way. It was not his prerogative to fulfil any conception of a satisfactory life, excepting his own.

As he had matured, and the influence of his youthful frustrations waned, his vision of himself grew ever more precise. His identity became as much a daily recitation as any Surakian principle, as fundamental, as necessary.

He was half-Vulcan. He was a Starfleet officer. He was asexual, and dyslexic, and all of these traits demanded respect.

And, most recent and yet most significantly, he was loved.

*

In the early morning, when sentimentality was often keen, he would observe the man lying beside him in bed, and wonder how he had arrived at such fortunate circumstances.

_T’hy’la_.

It had been six months, and still it was puzzling. How was it possible that James T. Kirk loved him? Of all the partners he could possess, of all those who offered so much more than Spock ever could, Jim had chosen him. 

A satisfactory answer had not yet emerged. However, Spock was slowly accepting that it was impossible to find objectivity in the face of the emotional. 

Their quarters were peaceful, as the automated light began to filter through the room.

Gently, his fingertips skimmed the bare flesh of Jim’s back, savouring both the smooth materiality of his skin and the dreamlike vibrancy of the spirit caught beneath it.

A little hum met the touch, soft, unguarded. Spock felt it ripple along his veins; stir the ancient protective instincts toward one’s mate.

How he cherished this man.

“Something I can do for you, Mister Spock?”

The words were lazy, mumbled through the gap between sleep and waking. Still, Jim's hazel eyes slid open, gazing warmly up at him.

His question was perhaps ironic. Since Spock confessed his asexuality two months prior, Jim had been nothing but considerate and loving. By his estimation, he was the one who deserved demonstrations of gratitude.

As it was, Spock shook his head. A slight smile dared the edge of his lips. “I merely ask that you be as you are.”

“Oh?” Jim rolled onto his side, now fully awake. He propped a hand beneath his head. “And what am I?”

Spock did not answer immediately. Instead, he traced the slope of Jim’s shoulder to his clavicle with near scientific precision.

“Beautiful.”

That made Jim laugh, as compliments appeared to do. Beneath the covers, he felt his foot knock gently into his shin.

“Flatterer.” Still, his grin indicated that the flattery was appreciated. “Any other sweet, illogical nothings for me?”

He knew the question was in jest, yet Spock found he had an answer.

“Yes.” Carefully, he brought his hand to Jim’s cheek. “I am grateful for your presence, and your companionship. If it would not displease you, I would remind you that I hold you in the highest possible regard.”

All pretence melted beneath an expression that communicated Jim felt, if he remembered the phrase correctly, ‘warm and fuzzy’.

“Oh, _Spock_.”

He pushed himself up, clambering over pillows to fold Spock into his arms.

“You’re so—ugh, you’re great.”

He pressed his lips to his temple, and when Spock tilted his head upwards, pulled him into a deep, tender kiss.

When they parted, Jim hummed, contemplatively. “Why did you think that would displease me?”

“I have noted in human culture that the repeated declaration of one’s affections is often perceived as off-putting by the recipient.”

Jim scoffed, lacing his hands behind Spock’s head, anchoring himself within their embrace.

“That’s only for excessive cases. Or when the declarations are weird. Like Ensign Dobson and Xiao calling each other snuggle-bum on duty. Yours are completely different.”

“Indeed.” The more Spock learned of human courtship rituals, the greater appreciation he held for Jim’s comparatively restrained style. “I simply did not wish to overstep my bounds.”

“You didn’t. You haven’t.” Jim brought their foreheads into affectionate contact. “Not by a long shot, _ashayam_.”

Spock resisted a smile at the use of the Vulcan endearment. He ran a hand through Jim’s hair, leaning into their touch.

“I love you, infant,” he said, tenderly.

Jim burst into laughter, causing Spock to blink.

“Oh. Is that not correct?” he surmised, as Jim rolled onto his back, clutching his sides as he giggled furiously.

“No!” Jim managed. He ran the heel of his hand under his eyes, which were watering from the hilarity. “Oh my God, you said it so seriously!”

Spock frowned. “I was serious, Jim.”

Jim nodded, unable to speak as a fresh wave of laughter incapacitated him.

“Ah. Baby.” Spock inclined his head at the realization. “It is ‘baby’ that is used as an endearment, not ‘infant’. That was my error.”

“A fantastic error,” Jim assured, having finally tamed his hysterics back to a beaming smile. “Oh, man. I love you too, infant.”

“It is ‘baby’, Jim.”

Jim shook his head, grinning. “Never mind. Clearly, we’re not cut out for romance.”

It was a joke, an exaggerated statement intended to cause amusement, or lighten the mood. But his mood was not lighter. In fact, the joke punctured a hole in Spock’s self-confidence.

Sighing contentedly, Jim hoisted himself into a sitting position. “I think I’ll start getting ready for shift. You?”

“In a moment.”

“Sure.”

Pecking him on the cheek, not seeming to sense Spock’s thoughts, Jim sauntered off to perform his daily ablutions. He was still giggling to himself.

Spock tilted his head. His beloved was remarkably nonchalant regarding his mistakes. Perhaps it was simply his Vulcan sensibilities, but he found it rather troublesome that Jim did not hold him to a higher standard. Indeed, he had been troubled for some time – almost since the instant of Jim’s acceptance of his sexuality.

It was contradictory. There was no reason for his concern.

His beloved’s behaviour had been exemplary, a model of respect. Jim had not pushed him, had never overstepped the boundaries he set. In fact, barring the instances Spock raised the subject, Jim had not even spoken the word ‘sex’, never mind indicated he desired it. It was something for which Spock had been immensely grateful.

Yet he knew Jim's desire persisted.

Sometimes, in the abandon of a meld, or a clasp of a hand, Spock heard the whisper of want, caught flashes of Jim’s imagination, his unconscious urges, and they were not the simple domesticity that existed in reality.

And therein lay the concern.

Rising from the bed, Spock paced into the room, setting about his morning routine.

Before this, while not so sexually promiscuous as his reputation advertised, Jim had been a highly physical individual. It was obvious, from his flirtatious manner, his conversational indicators, his significant dating history, and his pansexuality that he enjoyed the carnal pleasures. Yet he had given it all up at a word.

He glanced into the bathroom, where Jim was humming absently, brushing his teeth.

What did Jim truly want? The question haunted him. Was Jim truly content to simply shut off so seminal a drive within himself? He had declared sex was not a need – and theoretically Spock knew that to be accurate – but in practice, he was uncertain.

In the mirror, Jim spied his glance. He cocked his head to the side.

“Need something?” he said, words constricted by the brush in his mouth.

Spock shook his head. “Do you, Jim?”

“Nope!” Jim laughed, shrugging playfully. “Not with you around, babe!”

And he wondered. Had Jim simply agreed to this unconventional arrangement because the alternative was his loss? Was Spock merely the lesser evil in a no-win scenario?

Spock was beginning to understand humanity’s addiction to pointless enquiry. It was quite possible to ask oneself questions that had no satisfactory answer, yet ask, and ask again. 


	2. Eavesdropping

Possessing superior sensory abilities was not always useful.

Spock and the captain were not publically romantic. In fact, to be discovered as such meant severe, and likely career destroying reprisal from Starfleet Command.

The sole person they had informed of their relationship status was Doctor McCoy, and only to maintain medical transparency. Spock was certain that the doctor had not betrayed them, nor was likely to.

Even so, it continually surprised him how often the ship’s gossip approached the truth.

“Ugh, I can’t stand it!”

Across the biology laboratory, Doctor Helen Noel gave an exaggerated groan, leaning into Yeoman Barrows.

“Do you know that he hasn’t even talked to me? In the five months since I transferred back, he hasn’t said a single word – not even a ‘hello’, or ‘where’s those reports I wanted’? He drives me up the wall!”

Spock wondered what vehicle could perform such unique locomotion (and why anyone would wish to transport the psychiatrist to such a place).

Yeoman Barrows rolled her eyes. “That’s because he’s moved on, Helen! Kirk is way over whatever happened at a Christmas party two years ago.”

Ah. The infamous Christmas party.

Their affair – which was no more than her unfortunate attempt to impose her affections on Jim, and his tipsy refusal at said party – was widely mocked amongst senior crew. Indeed, it was a favoured subject of teases toward the captain, alongside his other misguided flirtations. Spock also recalled the incident at the Tantalus colony, where he had walked in on the captain and Doctor Noel passionately grasping at each other; the captain impaired by the neural neutralizer.

A common pattern emerged. Jim impaired, and Helen Noel emboldened.

Hm.

Doctor Noel huffed. “You don’t know that. It was a very special evening.”

Barrows smirked, waggling her eyebrows knowingly. “Captain Kirk has a lot of special evenings.”

While he was unsure he understood the euphemism, he was inclined to agree with Yeoman Barrows’ unspoken sentiment. Jim certainly did not harbour feelings for Helen Noel.

“Besides, I hear he’s got someone else who comes first, if you catch my drift.”

Doctor Noel frowned, and he saw Barrows jerk her head backward. Spock lowered his eyes to the bacterial slides before him, in time to avoid Noel’s glance.

“Who? Not Mr. Spock?”

She hummed affirmatively.

“What!” A hint of disgust was audible in the psychiatrist’s surprise. “You have to be kidding me. James _Tomcat _Kirk is sleeping with him? The most frigid officer in the ‘Fleet?”

“Shh!” A thump and Noel’s sharp yelp indicated Barrows had kicked her. “He’s in the room, you ditz. Vulcans are supposed to have crazy hearing.”

“Oh, that’s an old space tale. Besides, what I said is true – he can’t fault me for being logical.”

Spock raised a brow. Obviously, he and the psychiatrist differed drastically in their opinions of what constituted logic. Nevertheless, he kept his gaze averted, continued to eavesdrop.

“Whatever you say.”

“God, Kirk is so stupid!” Helen moaned, rocking back and forth in her lab chair. “Ugh! Spock? Out of all the babes on this ship! That’s almost more insulting than being ignored.”

“Well, it’s just a rumour. And I heard it from Kevin Riley, so it’s probably false.”

“It better be. He’d be an idiot to go for that prude. That’s got to be the most boring lay on the Enterprise.”

“You never know. Andorians have that antenna kink thing. Maybe Vulcans have some kind of special love organ we can’t see.” Barrows giggled, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “Martha Landon told me they’re supposed to have ridged penises.”

“Ew, Tonia!”

For once, Spock agreed with her emotional reaction – and severely regretted his decision to eavesdrop.

“I don’t care if he’s mastered the _Kama Sutra _– it’s foul.” Helen Noel rolled her eyes, emphatically. “Kirk could do _so _much better.”

It was a statement that should have made little difference to him. Doctor Noel was obviously uneducated in a variety of areas, least of all the realities of his relationship with the captain. Jim loved him, and they were satisfied. Logically, nothing she said could change that.

Yet he wondered if she was correct.

**

“I think you two are little out of line.”

Lieutenant Uhura, Mr. Sulu, and Ensign Chekov were clustered at a nearby table in the lounge, though from Uhura’s expression she would soon be leaving the giggling others. Sulu was writing on his miniature PADD, taking note of the conversation.

“No way!” said Chekov, in the manner in which he usually deflected minor offenses. “If the Potemkin can make such quizzes, so too can we.”

“Besides, plenty of worse things have come up on SpaceFeed before.” Sulu added, moving the bowl of pretzels on the table away from Chekov’s eager grasp. “Remember when the Reliant ranked the admiralty by biggest penis?”

“And they put Komack as the Big One?”

Both shuddered exaggeratedly. Uhura rolled her eyes.

“All I’m saying is you shouldn’t be making unfounded sexual claims about the senior officers on-board just for a dating quiz. You might get yourself transferred to the Potemkin.”

Intriguing. Spock was aware of the publication in question – favoured among the general populous of Starfleet for its incendiary style of reporting, its exaggerated claims, and romantic questionnaires. Much of the journalism seemed to focus on the rumoured sexual exploits between Starfleet personnel.

Illogical, of course. Having lived with humans, however, Spock understood its popularity.

Sulu leaned forward on the table. “We’re not making claims, Uhura. Everyone knows they’re crazy about each other.”

“Yes! Kirk is like this.” Chekov stuck out his tongue and panted – perhaps attempting to resemble a Terran canine. “And Mr. Spock's efficiency reports for the Keptin are twice more romantic than anything Hikaru has ever said about me – and we have been dating for the ten months.”

“Don’t compare, babe. It’s a losing battle.”

“I know, _yagodka_, but I dream.”

Uhura folded her arms, glaring pointedly. “It’s no excuse. You shouldn’t be speculating on what sex positions they prefer. You don’t know they’re having sex at all.”

Sulu snorted. “Come on. Why else would Kirk look so happy?”

Uhura hesitated, then seemed to decide against arguing. “Whatever. But if Kirk finds out and has your ass hauled to auxiliary duty, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Great! Then help us out.”

“Yes – which of these sounds right for Mister Spock?” Chekov grabbed the PADD from Sulu with glee, scrolling through its pages. “Is he a ‘Say my name, say it’ or a ‘I’m going to make you my bitch’ type?”

In scientific terms, the next moment saw the blood vessels in his face widen to a significant level. Which, more practically, meant Spock’s face flushed dark green.

Uhura rose from her seat, snatching up the bowl of pretzels.

“Neither. You two are gross.” She stopped, pointing a commanding finger their way. “And for the favourite position question, put mine as Reverse Pleiades or I’ll knock you off the promotion list.”

As Chekov and Sulu shouted with laughter, Spock stood, and hastened from the lounge.

He couldn’t quite describe the distress it caused within. Because it implied it was foolish to imagine that they could persist as they were. Because he wished only to make Jim happy. And this suggested he was failing.

He was painfully aware of his failure. He had anticipated it happening from the moment he had first found Jim to be exceptional, wonderful, lovely.

Spock knew, despite Jim’s protestations to the contrary, that it was only a matter of time until he grew dissatisfied.

**

It had not been his intention to pry, but he almost wished it had.

Using Jim’s computer terminal to catch up on reports, Spock had discovered several entries in the recently viewed library that he did not recognize.

The heading read _Vulcan-Human Rel— _and the word was cut off there, obviously too long for the brief script of the history banks.

A fortuitous find, or so he had thought. Jim often liked to perform surreptitious research on Vulcan culture, in order to surprise him with new vocabulary. Spock found the practice charming. However, he had always wondered what Jim’s sources were - as an academic, he was interested in the referential lineage of any action. Never mind that Jim kept his romantic plans a carefully guarded secret.

Spock was pleased to find the source of them, at last.

It would not hurt to look, he reasoned. Any surprise he spoiled would be replaced by anticipation of the impending presentation of Jim’s research. He was quite eager to see what endearing custom Jim had stumbled upon this time. 

Inconsiderate of the potential consequence, he opened the files.

It was not research.

They were images. A male Vulcan atop a male human. Naked. Carnally engaged. The watermark in the corner indicated it was from the erotica section of the ship’s archives.

A flush of embarrassment hit his cheeks.

Spock scrambled to shut off the terminal, delete his viewing history. He made significant effort to purge his mind of the images. But they did not leave, and neither did their implication.

He need not wonder what Jim fantasized about anymore. It was plain – it was himself, all that he could not have.

That Spock would not let him have.

He felt strangely guilty, and yet that was illogical. He grieved that it had come to this, but found it was the predictable outcome.

Deficiency. A mark of his own deficiency. Against his will, the words of others rang in his head. Jim could do much better. Why would he choose this purgatory? Why did Spock allow him to? Why?

Worry provided no benefit, but worry he did. It built in his chest with almighty pressure.

For what else might Jim do to maintain the illusion of happiness?


	3. Coming to Terms

Troubled though he was, Spock remained ruled by logic. An emotional being would have lingered in pointless worry, stalled as problems began to fester, worsen.

Logic refuted inaction. Thus, Spock acted.

“May I speak with you, captain?”

The quarterly officers’ briefing had just concluded; senior crewmembers were filing out of the conference room, engaging in idle small talk.

Jim, juggling several PADDs between his and a yeoman’s hands, looked up.

“Always, Mr. Spock.” He flashed a charming smile his way. “Just give me a sec.”

With a few strokes of his stylus, and a succinct set of instructions to the yeoman, Jim cleared himself of duty. Gesturing for Spock to accompany him, he moved to sit on the edge of the conference table.

“Let me guess,” he said, a hand coming to his lips in playful performance of contemplation. “You want more time in the botany lab scheduled for that science recruit of yours.”

“No, captain. Although it would be eminently rational of you to do so.”

“Eminently,” Jim chuckled. “Fire away then, commander. I’m all ears.” 

Spock did not, however, “fire” his intended discussion. Over his shoulder, he could sense the presence of the other officers, still loitering in the room.

He rotated his frame forty two degrees to the right, to shield their conversation from prying eyes. “I would prefer we speak alone. It is a matter of some importance.”

“Oh.” Jim’s light-heartedness evaporated. “Something to do with…?” He gestured between them.

Lightly, Spock nodded. “Indeed.”

“_Shit._”

The curse – spoken at barely a whisper – surprised him. It hinted that Jim guessed their potential subject, and was displeased. Before Spock could process the reaction, however, Jim hastened to the other side of the room.

“Sorry to interrupt, crew,” he said, not looking very apologetic nevertheless. “But I’m afraid there’s other business to be had. If you wouldn’t mind?”

The officers dissolved into a jumble of “_oh, of course captain” _and “_no worries!_” as he ushered them into the hall.

When the doors slid shut behind them, Jim turned immediately to Spock.

“I know you’re probably mad.”

In an instant, he had transformed from invulnerable captain of the Enterprise, to the gentle man of their private lives. Even in so dramatic a change, Spock noted his subtle nervous tells. A hint of pink had entered his face, his hands knotting together anxiously. Yes, Jim was decidedly perturbed. 

“And before you tear my illogical actions apart – I admit they were illogical – I want you to know that it’s not a reflection on how I feel about you, or us. It was my mistake, one I never plan on repeating.”

It was the sincerity of his tone that startled him most. Spock had the sudden thought that perhaps there was some gross offence he had yet to discover.

Spock seized his arm, and Jim’s eyes darted up to his. Through their touch, he felt a measure of _guilt, contrition_, yes, but overwhelmingly _fear, misunderstanding, _and a sincere desire to make things right.

It was not the general impression that usually accompanied malicious behaviour.

“Oh.” Jim’s shoulders dropped their tension, slowly, his eyes searching Spock’s expression. “That wasn’t what you wanted to talk about, was it?”

“I cannot answer objectively, as I do not know to what you were referring.” Nevertheless, he applied gentle pressure through his hand, mimicking the squeeze of comfort Jim offered others in vulnerable moments. “You need not fear my response, regardless. I am Vulcan, and do not evaluate mistakes with emotion.”

It appeared to help. Jim bobbed his head. 

“I was talking about…” He trailed off, humming at his own apparent embarrassment over the subject. Quietly, almost self-deprecating, he mumbled, “…the _porn_.”

“Ah.”

Indeed, it was not the subject Spock had been pursuing. But it was closely related.

He let go of Jim’s arm. “I gather you regret having viewed it.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Because you were discovered?”

“No!” Though his disavowal was quick, it was not guilty. Jim’s brows contracted in anger. “Spock, it’s nothing like that.”

“I am not accusing you, Jim. I merely asked a question.”

Jim sighed, ran a hand over his brow. He sat back against the table edge.

“I was planning to tell you about it. I just…I don’t know.” He turned his head to the side, looking to the floor. “I wasn’t sure how to bring it up. It’s not something you drop into casual conversation, especially not when…well, you get the idea.”

He got it. Yet he was uncertain as to what Jim felt. Finding no further answers in observation alone, Spock pulled out one of the nearby chairs, sat at the table. It was time to address the issue at hand. 

“The subject I wished to discuss was the level of physical intimacy in our relationship. Specifically, how to address our lack of sexual intercourse.” 

“Our lack?”

At once, noting the change in positional arrangement, Jim slid into an adjacent chair. It levelled the power dynamics between them, though it was perhaps unconscious on Jim’s part. Spock respected the gesture, regardless.

“Spock, I didn’t mean to suggest that I’m unhappy in our relationship. I’m not lacking—”

“Captain, I would appreciate if you would permit me to outline my concerns without contradiction. I find it most useful to raise certain matters without immediate emotional reaction or hasty assumption. You may respond once I have concluded, of course.”

If Jim was thrown by the formality, he recovered admirably. He nodded.

“Of course. You have my word, no interruption. Please.”

Jim gestured that the floor was his.

It was difficult to begin, as with many important conversations. He decided reassurance might prove the most effective starting point.

“I am not discontent with our relationship. On the contrary, my experience being your boyfriend has been almost exclusively positive. You demonstrate love for me to a degree I have never known. In turn, I have come to cherish you more than I ever anticipated, or thought possible. This, I hope, you are aware of already.”

Jim hummed, warmly, propping his elbow on the table, his hand under his chin. “I don’t begrudge the reminder.”

Spock resisted the urge to smile. _Focus_.

“Nevertheless, I have become concerned that you may not be equally content. This is due in some part to my asexuality.”

It was evident Jim vehemently disagreed; his eyes widened, head began to turn to shake a negative assessment. But he stopped himself, held by his promise.

Spock lifted a hand, nonetheless, to halt any premature statements.

“This is not to say I believe you are unhappy, or feel entrapped by our agreement. Rather, I am of the opinion that you have withheld certain desires and wants from me in effort to please, or to ensure that our relationship continue without friction. While this is commendable, and appreciated, I worry that it is unhealthy for your wellbeing.”

“Sorry,” Jim said, clearly unable to abide the suggestion. “But can you point out examples of times I’ve—”

“Certainly, Jim. You are a physical, sex-positive individual.” Spock folded his hands on the table, prepared for the rebuttal. “As you have raised, you viewed pornography of individuals with congruent basic features to ourselves, likely in effort to imagine us in those situations. You did so at least once, if not multiple times.”

“Just the one time,” Jim mumbled, in counter-argument.

Spock raised a brow. "I find such a claim somewhat doubtful, Jim. I am aware that you utilize imagination on a frequent basis.”

“Like when?” When Spock hesitated, Jim scoffed. “Spock – one instance of externalizing desire doesn’t mean I think about it that—”

“But you do.”

There was perhaps no point in withholding what he knew. Spock exhaled, and then conceded his knowledge.

“We share a bond. I know your thoughts. You fantasize about us engaging in coitus, particularly when alone, or when we have not touched for a significant period. You are enamoured with the concept of my superior strength, particularly when used to ‘have my way’ with your body. Specifically, you have repeatedly returned to images of having your hands restrained, being pressed into the wall of the sonic shower during intercourse, and—”

“Alright!” Jim’s face was noticeably pinker than before. “I’m aware of the images. I didn’t realize I was projecting all of that.”

“I do not fault you for it. You have not undergone the disciplinary training that would assist your restraint.” Spock looked away. “I have also allowed your thoughts to enter my purview more than usual. For that I apologize.”

“You allowed them?” Jim leaned forward, eyes narrowed in confusion. “Why? Just to know what I was fantasizing about?”

“Yes. And because I felt it my duty to know my shortcomings as a romantic partner.”

“Now, that’s not fair!”

Jim took his hand. The wave of fervent disagreement that crashed through the touch was comforting, if unscientific.

“Spock, you’re a wonderful partner. Nothing about you is a weakness or a failure, especially not your sexuality. And the fact you’d even think that is only more proof that this whole problem falls on my shoulders.”

“No, Jim.”

“Yes, it does!”

Jim shook his head vigorously, seeming frustrated.

“I’ve tried so hard to change my way of thinking – because I know it’s degrading for you to be thought of that way. I hate making you uncomfortable. I swear I’ve done everything I can to try to ignore those urges, to put them aside. But I’ll do more, if you need it, if that’s what it—”

“No.”

Gently, Spock covered their tangled hands with his free palm, sending the cluster of warm, loving emotions bubbling in his chest through the bond.

“Jim, as I have told you, I am not the only one with needs, nor are my needs in some way superior to your own. If you would not ask me to ignore my sexuality, then it is hardly fair to demand it of yourself.”

His beloved’s fervour deflated somewhat.

“I know that. It’s…” Jim sighed. “I don’t know why it has to be such a big deal with me. It’s not like I’m that desperate. Hell, it isn't any different than before we were together.”

Spock frowned. Surveying Jim’s posture, the waver that had entered his usually unfaltering gaze, he surmised there was something Jim had not admitted.

“Is it simply intercourse that you desire?”

There was a hesitation, perhaps a second and a half long. Jim’s eyes darted to his, lips parted briefly around a word. Quickly, however, both were dropped.

“Yeah. Yes.” He nodded. The gesture was forced. “But I can deal with it myself.”

“_T’hy’la_.”

Both the word, and the hand Spock placed upon his cheek drew the hazel eyes to his own.

“I am your friend, above all other titles. Your truth shall not frighten me, nor drive me from your side.”

The defences slipped from his hazel eyes. Slowly, Jim’s hand rose to curl around Spock’s. “_T’hy’la_.”

“Tell me what you desire.”

“You.” The word was aching, appearing to undam his heart of pretence. The rest cascaded from Jim in a rush of earnest feeling. “Your touch. We’ve moved so slowly. We’ve only shared a bed for a month – and that’s fine, but…oh, Spock. There’s always a space between us. Sometimes, I don’t just want to wake up beside you, in your bed – I want to be in your arms. I want to kiss more, everywhere, and I want you to kiss me, I want you to seek me out. I want you to…_want _me.”

The silence stretched into the room, filled the air between Jim’s shaking breath, bowed head, and his own contemplation.

Spock realized he had fallen into a very human fallacy. He had assumed his own cultural norms were universal.

On Vulcan, bondmates lived together well before their marriage, often spending years at each other’s side before ever contemplating an embrace, or the _ozh’esta_. To Spock’s mind, Jim’s love had seemed impossibly fast, almost breakneck speed. Thus, he resisted it. It was not logical to rush that which was meant to last a lifetime, certainly not the love of _t’hy’lara_, most special of all.

But he had not considered the reverse.

Humans valued physical love so much more than Vulcans. Perhaps it was their way of filling the void of their psi-null connections. The touch of a hand, after all, offered parallels to the touch of a mind. To them, to Jim, touch was a fundamental tenet of relationships. To resist physical affection must seem equal to resisting the call of your bondmate's mind. And Spock could understand how that must hurt. 

There was much he had neglected, much he had overlooked in selfish favour.

It required amendment.

“My beloved.” Forming the _ozh’esta_, he traced it down Jim’s palm reverentially. “I do want you. I have always wanted you. That you have ever doubted my love is my greatest folly.”

“I…I didn’t want to push.”

There may have been more Jim wished to say, but it was inconsequential. Words only served as a precursor to action; and words had run their course.

Spock took his face into his hands, brought their lips together in sweet communion.

He felt the slightest inhalation against his cheek. Then, Jim flung his arms around his neck, clambered across the gap into a messy embrace.

“Spock,” Jim mumbled into his lips. “Oh, sweetheart.”

“_Ashayam_. Forgive me for not addressing this earlier. Hesitation, I fear, has prolonged our injury.”

Jim made a small sound, perhaps of empathy. He kissed his cheek. “I was trying to avoid hurting you.”

“And you have. You have pleased me so thoroughly, almost without end. The only desire you have not attended to is my need to please you. I want to rectify this mistake – in tangible, physical fashion.”

Jim pulled back. “You do?”

Spock simply nodded. It was all that was necessary.

With a short, soft exhalation, Jim fell forward again, pressing his forehead into Spock’s chest. Spock folded into him in turn, resting his lips against the curve of his skull, his short, silky hair.

“It was so fucking humiliating looking at those pictures.” His words were quiet, but sharp, bitter. “Trying to imagine… and I know how insulting that is to you. I just needed an outlet – I thought if I was picturing you it would make it feel right. But it made me feel awful instead. As if I was tarnishing everything we have together, like it was cheating somehow.”

Jim’s voice wobbled, obviously contrite. Spock hugged him closer.

“I do not interpret it that way, _t’hy’la_. I understand your motivations, and hold no enmity toward you, or your urges. It is simply your way, as mine is mine. Neither possesses morality. Forgive me if I have implied such things.”

“You haven’t.” Jim’s arms moved up his back, gripped his shirt. “Thank you. I didn’t realize I needed this.”

“You are always welcome to it.”

They remained in this embrace for another forty-point five-four seconds. There was no need to speak, or search out each other’s minds. The presence of the other’s physical form was enough.

At last, however, Jim shifted backward. Spock allowed his arms to fall away, to release. For a moment longer, they observed each other’s expression, finding both fond, both content.

Jim huffed, gently. “So much for me not interrupting your explanation.”

Spock hummed, entwined their fingers. “I did not possess high hopes in that regard.”

That earned a laugh from Jim.

Gingerly, he brought their hands to his lips. When Spock did not pull away, he pressed a series of kisses along the back of his hand.

“I love you, Spock. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make this right between us.”

“As am I.”

Jim smiled. Spock was certain his own expression was comparable.

“Tell me how I can be better.”

The provocation raised Spock’s brow. “In point of fact, I intended to offer solutions which require both our efforts. I do not consider it entirely healthy to persist in the belief that only one of us is to blame.”

“My apologies. That’s something else I’ll work on.”

Looking down, Jim half-laughed, seeming to realize they were awkwardly sprawled across the conference chairs, in rather untenable positions for the conversation to come.

Untangling themselves, they regained their former positions. Jim perched again on the conference table; Spock stood dutifully at his side. The normalcy was comforting.

“What’s our best course?” He offered his open hand. “I assume you have a theory?”

Spock raised a brow. “Naturally.”

He placed his hand within Jim’s.

“I have conducted extensive inquiry into the matter, considering both your desires, and my own confidence level. My conclusion is that we arrive at an approximate compromise between the two. And, if I may, I believe I have found a suitable proposal.”

“By all means, Mr. Spock,” he said, squeezing his hand. “Propose.”


	4. Compromised

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Thanks for your patience for this long chapter! Fun, sexy-ish times await! 
> 
> (Also eager Trekkies may spot a line of dialogue from the series - leave a comment if you know which one it is, or just leave a comment!)

Once ready, he entered through the bathroom door.

At the counter, Jim was mulling over the bottles of regulation soap, likely coming to the conclusion that they all possessed a similar, regulation-quality odour.

He looked around. A bashful smile revealed his slight dimples.

“Hi.”

“Hello,” Spock returned, lowly.

“Um, I think this one,” Jim said, holding up one of the bottles. “It’s the least utilitarian grade.”

“As you wish, beloved.”

A tiny element of pink entered his cheeks, but Jim said nothing more.

They completed final preparations. Jim set the bottle inside the shower, Spock arranged the towels they would need afterward.

At the shower door, Jim paused, then turned to where Spock stood, not so far away.

“You’re sure about this?” he asked, for the seventeenth time since Spock had stated his certainty an hour prior. “Because changing your mind is always an option.”

“I am sure.”

Jim exhaled. “Ok.”

Slowly, they undid the fastenings of their clothes. Spock folded and set his aside, Jim’s fell to the bathroom floor. For a moment, they stood exposed, simply observing the other’s body in this new, naked way.

It was uncomfortable, he judged, but not unbearable. He was aware of the imperfections, the parts of himself that were usually hidden by clothing. He appreciated now what a uniform did for one’s self esteem.

Jim, however, he acknowledged, had an aesthetically pleasing body. But then, he already knew that.

“You are allowed to look,” he said quietly, noticing Jim’s gaze stayed unnaturally fixed above his waistline.

“Oh, sorry, Spock, I—!” Jim cut off his own bluster with a self-aware chuckle. “I just didn’t want you to feel too exposed.”

The irony was endearing, somehow.

With permission, Jim did look. “Well.” He produced a little shrug. “You’re…all there.”

“It is not ridged. I hope that is not a disappointment.”

The comment made Jim burst into laughter. “Ridged?”

“Yes. According to Tonia Barrows, it is a popular rumour about Vulcan genitalia.”

“Well, you can’t trust Tonia Barrows.”

Spock raised a considering brow. “Coincidentally, there are similar theories about human sex organs within Vulcan circles.”

“And are the rumours true?”

“No. Some years ago I consulted the appropriate medical diagrams to assess the differences between Vulcan and human physiognomy.” Spock glanced down. “You would seem to match the standard.”

Jim grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

His hands moved to the shower door.

“Shall we—?”

“Yes.” Spock nodded, following as Jim stepped in. “Unless your intention was merely to look at me.”

“I think there are more productive uses of our time.”

“I would agree.”

Jim input the shower settings, forgoing the sonic mode for Terran water. It began to rain upon them from the nozzle overhead; both flinched slightly at the initial burst of cold, which quickly grew warmer.

They were much closer than before. There was a bashful negotiation of where to stand, and how close. There was less room in here, however, to avoid contending with each other's body.

Jim’s gaze softened, laughing breathily in the semi-silence of the falling water.

“I’m excited. Is that silly?”

Spock shook his head lightly. “Shall we?”

The answer was in retrieving the soap bottle.

Taking a measure into his hands, Spock began to lather the soap gently into Jim’s skin, damp and smooth. Over the muscles of his chest, up his shoulders, along his arms, taking sensual pleasure in the physical sensation. In turn, Jim moved his hands over Spock’s upper torso, fingers spreading through his chest hair.

“I’ve never had shower sex before,” Jim murmured, almost too softly for him to catch.

Spock paused. “And you are not going to, Jim.”

“Oh! Yeah, of course not! I meant…” Jim looked away, seeming to judge whatever he thought as unworthy of voicing. “Never mind.”

Spock frowned, but said nothing. He focused on massaging circles with his thumbs into Jim’s trapezius muscles.

Jim glanced at him again, slightly doubtful.

“Can I kiss you? Is it too early for that?”

“I would be amenable.”

“Oh, good, me too.”

Their breaths were steamed from the hot water, Jim’s lips supple, pliant beneath his. One hand worked its way up Spock’s neck, wound into his hair.

Separating, they rested together, swaying slightly on their feet back and forth. Jim’s body was warm and wet against his, and though it felt odd, different to have their naked forms touching, it was not completely unpalatable.

“I’ve never done this either. That’s what I meant to say.” Jim placed a kiss beneath his ear, and then several more. “I should have brushed up on the rules.”

“I can inform you of the general behaviour.” Spock had, after all, conducted extensive research to prepare. “Outside of sex, it is typical for couples in a shower to kiss, and bathe each other. Furthermore—”

“Spock.” Jim gave him a wry look. “I was kidding. I know the gist of what people do in a shower.”

“Ah.”

Of course.

They stood in silence for a long moment. The water rained down, studded and sensitized their flesh, though the heat of Jim’s body against his was more present in his mind.

Jim’s hand traced down his chest once more, as his head came to rest upon his shoulder.

Spock merely held him. He thought of what was best to do – to catch the spark of this heat, or to let it smoulder, or else mellow into soothing warmth. In ways, he wished he possessed more experience. Jim, though patient, must have so many memories of this kind, expectations. Spock wished to live up to them, and more. He wanted, perhaps quixotically, to be Jim’s greatest lover.

As if sensing this thought, Jim nuzzled closer. “This is really nice,” he murmured, lazily. “Stop me if this is insulting, but God, you have such an attractive body.”

It was not insulting. Spock knew Jim must think of him as attractive – for who pursued a relationship with one they found repulsive? – but it was uniquely pleasurable to hear it stated in such certain terms.

“I did wonder why you were so eager to see me nude,” he murmured, and was content when Jim laughed softly. “I find your body to be exquisite.”

“Oh, please.” Jim pulled back, pushing one hand into his chest in half-hearted dismissal. “Exquisite?”

“Yes, Jim. Beautiful to an extremity.”

Jim’s gaze lowered, his teeth momentarily caught his lower lip in a boyish mixture of happiness and timidity. Then, impulsively, he turned his back, pulled Spock’s arms around him.

“You’re going to make me incredibly full of myself, you know that?” he said, hands mapping where Spock’s touch settled on his stomach, his waist. He giggled, as Spock pressed kisses through his hair. “But don’t stop just yet.”

“I cherish you, Jim.” He placed his lips against the side of his neck. “You give me new ambitions, desires that I have never conceived of. I love you beyond the extremity of love’s conception. I love you – beyond myself.”

“_Spock_.”

The name was a whisper, more breath than sound, almost helpless in its abandon. It was beautiful, as Jim was beautiful. It reminded him how much he adored this man. He was eager to show it.

Spock moved his hands up Jim’s body, sliding to his chest, pressing worshipful lips to his shoulders, his neck, his cheek in endless repetition.

“You are my world, my constancy,” he murmured, as Jim’s head fell back against him, his body melted against his touch. “I would follow you to any end. I am yours, for all my life.”

“Oh, Spock.” A hand rose, burying itself through Spock’s short hair, securing him to Jim’s side. As if he would ever wish to leave. “I’m yours too —if either of us belongs to the other, it’s me with you.”

“_T’hy’la_.”

“No. My _t’hy’la.”_

Turning over his shoulder, Jim’s lips connected with Spock’s. Tenderness and warmth flowed between them, a current of love that vibrated at the same frequency of his _katra_. A feeling that demonstrated, more than any fact, that this was correct, real, right.

Jim pressed into him. Again, strange to feel each other with such immediacy. Spock shifted his focus away from their lower halves, onto where their hands, their lips connected.

He allowed himself to be walked into the tile wall. Jim’s kisses were more urgent, fleeting, and Spock responded with constancy, strength. As Jim moved with almost ephemerality within their touch, Spock held him fast. He stroked Jim’s chest, caressed his neck with his lips, and when he dared, his tongue. Jim tasted of condensation, and shaven skin, and the barest hint of regulation soap. Addictive, in a word.

Then, a hardness pressed against his thigh.

Instinctively, he flinched, drew a sharp breath.

“Oh, fuck!”

Jim staggered back at once.

“Shit, Spock – I’m so—!”

Spock caught his hand as he retreated, tethered them together.

“Do not move so quickly, Jim.” His mouth was dry; he cleared his throat. “You will slip.”

Now he was the one with the avoidant gaze.

Jim’s free hand moved to enclose their touch, _worry, regret, god I’m such a fucking idiot _pulsing through the bond.

“I’m sorry.” His voice lacked its strength, almost as if in fear, or close to tears. Spock looked to him. _Guilt_. “It wasn’t intentional, I promise. I know it’s repulsive. I shouldn’t have…”

“Jim.” He pulled him gently forward, hoping to communicate his reassurance. “I would never assign such a denomination to you, or your body. It is simply a natural function.”

Jim shook his head. “But it upsets you. You’re sex-repulsed, right?”

“That is correct. However, that does not mean I cannot fathom the mere existence of reproductive biology. I remind you that we have the same genitalia. On occasion, I have experienced such phenomena. It is not so alien, or disgusting a concept.”

As he spoke, Jim relaxed considerably. The shame that had tensed his frame, shielded his expression melted away.

“I should have known that.” Briefly, he squeezed his hand in silent gratitude. “I didn’t want you to feel pressured to go too far, or confront anything unpleasant, just for my sake.”

It was an admirable concession. Spock was aware of his fortune, to have this thoughtful, caring man for a partner.

“I appreciate your concern. You must allow me, however, to enforce those boundaries as they emerge.”

Jim nodded, smiling gently. “I understand.”

They held the touch for a moment, only a few seconds. Yet the instant held the weight of an hour’s worth of conversation.

Removing his hand, Jim exhaled softly. “I’ll need a few moments. It takes a bit of time to settle down, as I’m sure you know.”

“Jim.” Spock hesitated, a suggestion striking him. He decided to voice it. “Would it be preferable to…not settle down?”

Jim’s brows shot up his forehead. “What?”

“Would you prefer—?”

“Whoa, Spock.” He shook his head, obviously thrown. “No. You don’t need to deal with this. I’m not going to make you—”

“No, certainly not. I am simply suggesting it may be more pleasurable for you to pursue your biological impulse. Perhaps with my presence as an added stimulus.”

Jim’s eyes narrowed, likely finding the offer uncharacteristic, and therefore strange. That was understandable – Spock felt somewhat unsure of the offer himself. 

“You’d be comfortable with that?”

“I am willing to try it.” Spock inclined his head. “I do not anticipate doing much to assist you.”

A huff of laughter escaped him. “No, I didn’t anticipate that either.”

Still, Jim seemed a bit uncertain. He stepped backward to the wall.

“So…you’re just gonna watch, or…?”

“No.” Spock shook his head. “I would be most comfortable as the passive agent of your sexual release.”

Jim shifted on his feet. “I could turn away, so what I’m doing’s less visible, if that helps.”

“It would. Am I correct in assuming you wish to pursue the suggestion?”

“Well, sure.” There was a pause. Jim blinked. “Now?”

“If preferable.”

His face was quite pink. “I…yeah…ok.” 

“Acceptable.” Spock nodded. “You may turn and begin at your leisure, captain.”

Jim huffed. “You pick the strangest times to call me that.”

And so, they began. Rather, Jim began.

Spock moved to stand at his side. Jim’s breathing grew heavy, laboured as the physical stimulus obviously took effect. It was odd, and increasingly uncomfortable to merely be beside him, almost sickly voyeuristic, and Spock had the desire to abort the practice all together.

No. It was fine. He would simply distract himself.

“I do not mean to interrupt,” Spock said quietly. “But may I have permission to touch you?”

The question, strangely, seemed to have an erotic effect upon him. Jim produced a sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan.

“Ye…yeah. You do.”

It was relieving to establish the formality. The last thing Spock desired was to hurt Jim without cause.

Slowly, he placed a hand against Jim’s hip, the other at his shoulder. When Jim did not shake him off, he leaned to kiss his neck. A groan met the contact, which made Spock somewhat uncomfortable, yet he persisted. At least this gave him a distracting occupation.

They remained this way for a considerable time. Spock was uncertain how long this should last. There had been no data in his research. Thus, he simply caressed Jim’s back, kissed his shoulder absently. He attempted to ignore his beloved’s shudders, and the gasping, aching sounds he produced. However, it became ever more difficult.

“Spock.” It was barely voiced. Jim arched his body, pressing, amongst other places, against Spock’s lower regions. “Unh…Spock.”

A feeling of intense unease crawled up his spine. 

“Jim, may we stop?”

"Huh?"

Spock repeated himself, more definite. “I would like to stop.”

“Oh… yeah.”

Jim stepped forward slightly, Spock removed his hands. Impulse said to apologize, but for once, Spock did not. There was no reason to – he did not want to.

His breath had risen into his chest, perhaps in discomfort, or anxiety. _Illogical. _Nothing unexpected had occurred. No danger had befallen; Jim was letting him walk away without any question or disparagement.

And yet somehow the bare facts did not soothe him. This had been most disruptive to his inner balance.

Shutting his eyes, Spock imposed steadiness upon himself. The moment had passed, he reminded the alarm in his head. Nothing further was required of him. He retained authority over himself and this situation.

Logic, as usual, brought comfort.

Calmer, he opened his eyes, and turned to the soap bottle. Emptying a little onto his palms, he washed himself once more. He took as much time as he felt necessary, methodically cleansing the places where their bodies had found uncomfortable contact. He elected to ignore Jim’s presence behind him in the shower cubicle for now.

Then, once done, he stepped forward into the jet of water. It was cooler now, calming in its regular pulsation upon his skin. He could smell predominantly the soap fragrance, sense the steam and felt restored, and in control, and returned to normalcy.

All of this helped.

“You alright?”

He looked back.

Jim stood with his standard bearing, no longer shaking, or half-staggered into the wall.

“Are you?” Spock inquired, hearing a measure of his prior worry slip through his controls. “You were trembling quite violently.” 

“I’m sorry. They were good violent trembles, I promise.”

From all indications, that seemed accurate. Beyond a slight pant, Jim appeared completely recovered.

That helped too.

A seriousness entered Jim’s expression. “Are you upset, sweetheart?”

Spock shook his head. “Negative. Forgive me if I interrupted your experience. The sensory experience, and the material immediacy of your…stimulation were somewhat overwhelming.”

“Of course. I probably shouldn’t have let myself go so far.” Jim exhaled. Spock was unsure what the rush of air signalled. “This was probably a mistake, wasn’t it?”

There was a pause. Spock was uncertain how to answer such a question. He had a baseless, emotional suspicion that this mistake had further reaching consequences than he first anticipated. 

“Was…” Jim moved carefully to stand beside him. “Was there something I could have done to make it less uncomfortable?”

Spock pondered the question. Jim, keeping an eye on him, ran a cursory wash of soap and water over his own body and hands.

Finally, Spock found answer. “I do not believe so. The discomfort lies in the act itself. Though you were discreet, there is little discretion in the physical nature of it. Logically, I should have foreseen this.”

Jim nodded. “Well. We tried.”

“It is cold,” Spock remarked, shutting off the water. “Perhaps we should exit the shower.”

“Oh. Alright.”

They did.

There was a strange, anxious tension in the air. It was the subject of their next conversation, the one they could not avoid which poisoned the atmosphere.

How had this changed them? It had not been sex, but it had been sexual. How had this made Jim feel – had this aroused other desires in him? Was this merely the first realization in a longer line, the mistake which revealed the fundamental mismatch of their identities, their wants?

Distraction. Spock would take it while he could.

He moved directly for the towels he had prepared beforehand. Efficiently, he wrapped his waist with one, brushed away the excess water from his torso with another. There was comfort in being needlessly thorough, in prolonging the inevitable.

Behind him, Jim moved slower, less focused on drying off. Spock could feel his eyes upon him. Clearly, he was not so eager to avoid what must be.

Eventually, capitulating, Spock looked back.

“Please,” he said softly, and did not need to specify himself.

“I…” Jim shifted, clutching his towel in front of his chest. “About the—what happened, I guess. I want to make sure I phrase this right.”

“You wish to know why I chose to assist you.”

Jim exhaled in clear relief. “Correct as usual. I’m not—judging or anything, I just don’t have the same frame of reference as you do. I want to understand.”

It was modest of him to admit that.

“It was an experiment.” Spock took a moment to assess whether that was accurate. “A test of my own abilities. I thought…perhaps it was short-sighted, but I assumed I would be able to overcome my distaste.”

Jim frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I…” Spock dropped his gaze. He moved to the counter, took up his undershirt, began to unfold it slowly. “I never tested my sexuality before this.”

He felt Jim step toward him, sensed his carefulness, his caution not to spook him with too hasty a movement. Spock hung his head, breathed a laugh.

“I am a Vulcan, a scientist. We do not rely upon innate feelings to dictate fact. As much as I knew what I am, what I felt, how it would…I knew also that I had no objective proof to support this. It was theoretical. I thought perhaps – if confronted with the practical reality I might—”

“Hey.”

Jim’s hand settled on his back. Spock looked up at him, in the bathroom mirror, and only then noticed the glimmer of wetness in his own eyes.

“You don’t have to explain yourself.” The gentleness of his tone made Spock feel weak. “And you don’t have be ashamed that you didn’t like it. You tested a hypothesis, it came back negative. Ka..._kaiidth_, right?”

“_Kaiidth_,” Spock murmured. He was right. He looped an arm around Jim’s back, pulled him into a short embrace. “I apologize if my actions have confused you.”

“Nah. I could tell you weren’t comfortable.” Jim pressed a delicate kiss to his cheek. “For the record, it wasn’t my favourite thing either.”

“No?”

“No. I’ve always been of the opinion that pleasure is a two person operation. I like my partner to be happy – which I hope he is, now.”

Spock hummed. “Are you planning to dry off?”

Jim laughed, and moved to do so. Spock slipped into his undershirt, and dark briefs.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Jim said, over his shoulder. “But I’ll have to drop my towel for a moment to get dressed.”

“I have stood next to you during masturbation, Jim. I doubt highly that I would be offended by simply your naked form.”

“Oh." Jim cleared his throat. "Right. Cool.”

Still, Jim turned away as he unclad himself, perhaps in attempt to shield Spock’s sensibilities, or his own. It was a kind gesture.

Once dressed, they turned back to each other. They observed each other, parallel to before, but this time without anticipation, or reticence, or worry. Undergarments did wonders for one’s self esteem.

“Jim.” Spock permitted a smile. “Thank you for bearing with my attempts to please you. You have been exceedingly patient with my doubtless painful incompetency. I hope I was able to succeed somewhat, despite this.”

“Of course.” Jim’s expression softened beautifully. He crossed the gap between them. “Spock, there’s nothing incompetent about you. I can’t imagine how difficult this must have been, how scary, but you were totally in control of yourself the whole time. I admire you for it.”

“It was alright?”

The question felt childish, and facile. Yet Jim smiled as if he were perfect.

“Wonderful, Spock.”

He reached for him. Spock needed no further persuasion. They folded into an embrace.

“Spock, I know you said you did this for my sake, but you never had to. You please me in ways you can’t even know, ways that no one else has ever pleased me. And this?” Jim pulled back, took his face into his hands. He pecked him on the lips. “This is more important than anything to me.”

“Thank you. I…also found pleasure in our exploration. In specific aspects, of course.”

“Oh, good!” Jim appeared genuinely glad to hear it. “Any particular highlights?”

“I enjoy touching you.” Spock looked down bashfully. “I am fond of your physical form. And I appreciate you touching me in turn.”

“You don’t know how happy that makes me. Though you’ve just signed yourself up for a hell of a lot of massages.”

Spock raised a brow at the suggestion.

“I accept – in moderation.”

Spock could almost feel Jim’s happiness radiate into his body, as they pressed together in a kiss.

Still, there remained the final caveats to this happiness.

“Beloved,” he murmured, as their foreheads rested together. “I must clarify my terms. I do not wish to ever repeat the aiding of your self-gratification, nor explore any other sexual behaviour with you.”

Jim retreated, but not, he recognized, in hurt, or dismay. His hands moved to brace his arms.

“I completely agree. No more experiments – at least not of this kind.”

“You are content in this conclusion?” The question felt redundant, but it had left his lips before he could stop himself.

Jim’s smile put the stars themselves to shame. “I am.”

And that was something to be celebrated. Without a word, he pulled Jim into his arms once more, burying his face in his shoulder. Jim clutched him with equal force, steadfast and loving and safe.

He did not believe in fortune, but this was an extremely fortunate outcome. 

“May I admit something?” Surprisingly, it was Jim who spoke. His voice was quiet, and for the first time, hesitant. “Since we’re being vulnerable with each other, I mean.”

“Certainly. You are always safe to confide in me, _t’hy’la_.”

Jim slid his arms back through Spock’s embrace, his hands coming to rest upon his chest. He noticed Jim kept his gaze lowered, focused into the intimate haven between their bodies. His fingers traced a meaningless pattern against his shirt.

The gesture was familiar; Spock had deployed it many times. It often helped to hold onto a shield when one was being particularly candid with emotions.

As the pause extended, Spock waited without provocation, or chastisement. Jim had offered him patience. It was only logical to reciprocate.

At last, Jim uttered a small sigh.

“I’m…I’m just average.” He huffed, self-conscious, shook his head. His voice lowered in volume. “In bed. Sexually. I’m not special, I’m not…not what I’m made out to be. All those stories about me being some big seducer, or kinky wild lover, or whatever they say about me, they’re just that. Stories.”

This seemed particularly difficult to speak of. Dismissiveness lay in the turn of his head, the slight roll of his eyes at his own confession. It was a defensive instinct, Spock recognized. It suggested Jim assumed this information would be met with mockery, contempt. Or that it had been in the past.

Before Spock could react, Jim stepped back from his touch. Leaning against the bathroom counter, he hoisted himself to sit on its edge. Spock followed his lead, stood at his side.

“Sex was important in my other relationships, sure,” Jim said, running a hand through his hair carelessly. “But it was never what attracted my partners to me. I used to imagine people chose to be with me because I treated them well. You know? That they liked me for me.”

“I am certain that is true,” Spock murmured, unable to withhold the reassurance.

“But since that stupid persona sprung up – ladykiller captain bullshit – it’s all anyone cares about. I’m just a vessel for fantasy. And when they find out I’m just…”

“Average.” It was not his judgment, rather an echo of Jim’s word.

Jim nodded. “They lose all interest. Like I’m not good for anything else. It’s…I don’t know.” Lightly, he swung one foot through the air, bouncing it against the cabinets. Then he scoffed, waved a dismissive hand through the air. “I don’t really have a point. Sorry. That was irrelevant, huh? Let’s go back to saying we love each other.”

Yet, despite his humoured tone, Spock took the confession seriously.

Jim thought he did not understand. The logic for such a belief was plausible – Spock had no such experience, or expectations placed upon him.

And yet, in a way, he had.

When considering Jim’s playboy image, he had only calculated the strain it had on his own romantic chances. It enforced an enormous pressure on his asexual status, compelling him to appease the reported sexual appetite of his mate. It never occurred to him that Jim might undergo the same difficulty, reversed, augmented.

Therefore, he placed a hand beneath Jim’s chin, and raised his gaze to meet his.

“Please do not dismiss your feelings. You have every right to speak of them. They are an essential part of your mind, which I love.”

Gently, he traced his hand along Jim’s cheek, whose eyes shut tight.

“I wish you to know that I have great sympathy for any false opinions of inadequacy that you may have developed about your abilities, or your worth. Know that I do not share them.”

Jim exhaled, the breath shaking with long-held emotion. He brought his hand to curl around Spock’s, as if fearing it would suddenly retract.

“I felt I could hide it from you,” he whispered, turning to press his words into their touch. “I thought – when I learned about your sexuality–it was almost perfect, like I wouldn’t have to disappoint you. I had this fear, before you told me, that there would be this picture in your head of what you thought I was, that everyone always thinks I am. And I’m not, and I can’t satisfy it. I didn’t want you to…”

He stopped, a convulsion hitching his shoulders. When Spock tilted his head upward, the tears in his voice spilled over, onto his cheeks.

“You deserve the best, Spock. I never want you to doubt for a second more in your life that you’re loved. And knowing I’m not good enough for most—”

“Do not say such a thing.”

Spock drew him forward, held him close as he could.

“You are enough. The affection you are capable of has overwhelmed me, exceeded all expectation. You are my _t’hy’la_. I choose to love you, not for social gain, or selfish pursuits, but because you are the man who most deserves my affections, and you always shall be. Never doubt that I am yours, and that it is by your doing.”

Jim sighed, sounding relieved, though muffled by their proximity. They clung to each other for a long, silent moment. The fierce and intimate current of their minds rocked them back and forth like the sea, yet they stayed upright, steadfast.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, leaning back from their embrace. Sniffing slightly, dragging the back of his hand beneath his eyes, he appeared to be righted to his usual self. “I’d say you don’t know what that means to me – but I think you do.”

Spock raised his first two fingers in the _ozh’esta_. Jim reciprocated, instantly. The frission of thought that buzzed along their veins was beautiful, and far from average.

They released.

“So,” Jim said, shifting along the counter. “What a shower, huh?”

They dissolved into common laughter – though Spock’s was merely a quiet hum.

“Indeed. I do not think we followed the traditional procedure even slightly.”

“Well, what else should we have expected? The daring captain and the brilliant scientist.” Jim tilted his head, fondly. “I love you.”

“And I love you, captain.”

They met in a long, lovely Terran kiss.

A thought struck him. Spock wrapped his arms around Jim’s waist.

“There was an element in your desires that I have neglected to indulge.”

Jim huffed. “Probably best to ignore those from now on.”

“Perhaps. However, this in particular had to do with a desire to be carried by me.”

“Oh. Yeah.” He shrugged. “I’m usually the one who lifts my partner, not the other way around. I just thought it’d be kinda hot.”

“I am capable of doing so.”

Jim’s eyes shot to meet his. “Really?”

In answer, Spock pulled Jim’s legs more firmly about his waist. When Jim responded with eager arms around his neck, Spock lifted him off the counter.

“I am always willing to demonstrate the strengths of my dual heritage.”

“Remind me to ask you more about that. Ooh!” Jim cried, his legs slipping down Spock’s damp frame. “Maybe a safer demonstration?”

“By all means.”

Swiftly, Spock hooked an arm beneath his legs, sweeping him up into a bridal lift. Judging by Jim’s beaming smile, this was clearly thrilling.

A sudden impulse of playfulness struck him. He spun them in a neat circle, feeling a rush of satisfaction at Jim’s cry of delight, and the way he clutched him tighter.

“You are happy?”

Jim giggled. “You have to ask?”

And he found he did not.

There was something in this moment that Spock could not objectively determine. Something in the totality of Jim’s happiness – that he truly did not have to ask, could simply observe and know it – of having unquestionable certainty, perhaps for the first time, that there was nothing either of them wished for beyond each other, beyond this.

“You are beautiful,” he said, allowing the thought, and a true smile to blossom from his lips. “More beautiful than any dream of beauty I’ve ever known.”

“_Spock_.”

Their kiss was deeper this time, long and almost aching in its tenderness. Jim’s hand buried itself through his short hair.

“I wish to spend more time with you.” Spock did not open his eyes, basking in the sensation of having Jim so close. “I know we agreed that the shower would be enough, but I wish to overrule that decision. I want to stay with you tonight.”

“Yes,” Jim murmured, achingly soft. “Your room. I want…” The words were consumed momentarily within a kiss. “I want to be with you forever. Spock, I’ve never loved anyone as I love you.”

“My _ashayam_.”

Jim sighed, softly, his head settling against his shoulder. “You make me feel adequate.”

“You are slightly more than adequate.”

And that set him giggling again. Spock was quickly discovering there was no end to the pleasure of that sound.

They floated through the doors to Spock’s quarters, swathed in warmth, and love, and the breath it took to speak sweet nothings.

“Spock.” Jim’s body arched as Spock lowered him to the bed. One hand gripped the front of his shirt. “_Spock._”

“My captain.” He moved atop him, brushed his lips up Jim’s bare chest, urged by the breathless sighs he was eliciting. “_T’hy’la, _my love.”

“_Ahem_!”

The sound cut through the dream of pleasure.

Both Spock and Jim looked quickly over to the sitting area. Someone sat on the couch across the room, having gone undetected in their daze of bliss. Someone they both knew well.

They froze, unequivocally caught.

“Oh.” Jim said, sheepishly. “Hi Bones.”


	5. Doctor Knows Best

Doctor McCoy glared back at them from Spock’s regulation couch, looking displeased, but not all together surprised at their conduct. Spock was uncomfortably aware of how this must appear – carrying Jim to his bed in ‘bridal’ fashion, clambering atop him, both of their lower halves clad solely in underwear.

He was grateful for the dim lighting. His cheeks were no doubt a lurid green.

“I was going to give you the results from your latest check-up, Spock.” McCoy’s voice came through gritted teeth. His arms were pulled tightly across his chest. “But it would seem you’ve both forgotten to disclose an important detail about your personal health.”

“Bones.” Jim put a hand against Spock’s chest. Spock hastened to remove himself from overtop his captain, allowing him to sit up. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

“Huh!” McCoy clucked. “That’s rich.”

“Doctor,” Spock tried, uncertain of whether he could maintain stoicism. “Captain Kirk is correct. We were not going to engage in sexual activity.”

“Oh, cut the crap. Do you think I’m stupid?”

Spock tilted his head. “Not at all.”

McCoy sighed, in an exaggerated, human manner. “Why do you two always do things the hard way?”

Clearly irritated, McCoy stormed over to where they sat.

“It’s one thing to keep your damn secret relationship off my records. And its another to lie directly to Starfleet Command, put my job on the line. All that I can deal with. But I won’t put up with you two ignoring the very real risks associated with this kinda behaviour. Sex isn’t something you can enter into without discussion!”

“Believe me,” Jim murmured. “We know.”

“No, you don’t! Not after that shower I heard runnin’, and not before either, I’ll bet!”

Spock flinched at the mention of the shower. It was one matter to have explored intimacy with Jim - quite another to have that intimacy broadcast to outside observation. 

McCoy eyes narrowed at the reaction. Clearly, he interpreted it as further proof of guilt. 

"I’m calling it quits for you two. You’ll just have to deal with not humpin’ each other ‘til I get some checks and balances run.”

“Bones!”

“Please, doctor, you do not understand—”

“Yes I do. And don’t you ‘please doctor’ me!”

McCoy gesticulated in the air with his hands, without much purpose, except to communicate his frustration.

“Jesus, Spock, of all people I’d thought _you _would understand wanting to abide by principle! Regulation ever cross that Vulcan head-a yours? The risks that come with aliens doin’ humans? Ever spare a thought for the required tests?”

“We have done nothing to each other that would demand such requirements.”

Spock heard his own voice, and how vexation saturated it. His recent vulnerability, the opening of his emotional centre was not aiding him in remaining rational or calm in the face of this unwarranted cross-examination.

“’Cause I caught you before it happened, that’s why!”

“Bones, please.” Jim placed a hand upon Spock’s arm. Perhaps he sensed his anger building through the bond. “Let it go for now. We’ll come in for tests – we’ll have a conversation about our relationship some time this week.”

“Don’t you try and delay this any longer, Jim.” McCoy jabbed an accusing finger in his direction. “I’ve given you two a more than generous blind spot for months. Sexual relations aren’t something I can just disregard.”

“I do not understand how we have been unclear.”

Spock stood, the single gesture causing him to tower over the shorter man. Anger bled through his usual controls, instructing him to defend himself and his beloved.

“We were not engaging in sex. We do not require the relevant medical intervention. Do not insist otherwise.”

“In a pig’s eye!” McCoy was not intimidated, perhaps unwisely. He squared his shoulders, stepped forward to meet him. “I don’t believe this. Is that the logical course now, Spock? Bold faced lies?”

“I have spoken the truth. We did not have sex.”

“Gentlemen, please.” Jim rose to his knees, put a restraining hold on Spock’s arm. “Arguments are not the way to settle this.”

McCoy barely heard him; neither did Spock.

“Oh, yeah? Give me a good goddamn reason why you wouldn’t!”

“Because I am asexual – that is why!”

The snarled confession, completely without forethought, knocked the air out of the room. McCoy blinked, took a half step backward. At his side, Spock felt Jim’s hand retract.

“You’re…what?”

A rush of embarrassment swept over him, chased by regret for what he had disclosed. _Oh, no_. The words reverberated back to him. What had he done? 

He wished to retract the statement, and yet found he could not. There was no logic in refuting the truth.

“Asexual,” he repeated, less confident in the word now than moments before. He looked away. “May I trust you know what that means, as a medical professional?”

“Of course—Spock, I…” The doctor seemed at a loss. “Since when?”

Spock’s icy glare at that was answer enough, evidently.

McCoy raised his hands, spluttering, “Right, always, sorry. I’m a little bewildered here.”

There was a silence, and a shared sense of awkward uncertainty amongst the three. Spock elected to sit down.

As he did, however, Jim got up.

“I’m gonna let you two talk,” he muttered in explanation. A hand went to the back of his neck. “Think I’ll put on some pants.”

Neither disagreed with the decision. The doors to the bathroom swished shut behind him, leaving Spock and McCoy alone.

McCoy shifted on his feet, awkwardly.

“You never told me you were ace.”

“No, I did not.” Spock looked to his hands, folding them in his lap. “It is not in my nature to discuss my sexuality with others.”

“Spock." The doctor sounded hurt. "I’m not just an other. I’m your doctor. I’m your friend.”

Spock did not dispute the facts, so remained silent. McCoy sighed.

“Jim knows?”

“That would seem obvious.”

“Oh, don’t be snarky. Lots of things _seem _obvious, but aren’t on closer observation. I’m just establishing the facts – bein’ scientific. Thought you outta anyone would appreciate that.”

Spock raised a brow, but let the comment pass. “It is not a reflection on our rapport that I chose not to discuss my sexuality with you. It is merely my preference, and my right.”

“No one’s denying you your rights.”

McCoy sniffed, then came to sit on the edge of the bed.

“I guess I understand why you didn’t say anything. I get that it’s personal. But I feel like you also hid it because you thought I’d judge you.”

The thought had not consciously crossed Spock’s mind. It was perhaps true – not because he thought McCoy was necessarily inclined to irrational judgment (though he was) – but simply because most others did.

He said nothing. Still, McCoy appeared to understand the silence. 

“I don’t, Spock,” he said, finding an uncharacteristic composure. His tone was quite sincere. “It doesn’t make a difference to me what you do with your body, or not. Asexuality is just another way of living, another mark on the bio chart, and nothing more. You and Jim are my friends, not just my primary patients. I get mad because I want you to be safe, and healthy, and god forbid happy for a change. I care about you.” There was a pause. McCoy huffed. “Come on. You got me to admit that much.”

This was a highly over-simplified explanation. However, the sentiment behind it was sophisticated, and quite touching. 

“Thank you, doctor. It is comforting to be certain that your opinion of me has not altered.”

“Over a little thing like that? No.”

“I would hope it would not.” Spock raised a considering brow. “It would otherwise reflect negatively on your character.”

“Way to turn our one nice moment into a backhanded compliment.”

Still, McCoy chuckled. Slowly, and rather uncertain, he brought a hand to Spock’s upper arm.

“Sorry that I overreacted. Sometimes emotions get the best of all of us. I want you to know you can always count on me to help you, Spock, in this, or anything else.”

Again, he knew this. But at times the repetition of fact was quite gratifying. Spock merely inclined his head, too moved to seek out words.

“So.” McCoy removed his hand. “You and Jim. He’s cool with it, too? You know, your—?”

“He is content.”

“Good, that’s… good.” His expression scrunched. “So, what do you even—?” 

“The personal dynamics of my relationship with Jim are not subject for conversation.”

“Right, sorry.” Still, he seemed puzzled. “You two were giggling a lot in that bathroom though.”

“Spock was telling me knock-knock jokes.”

Both turned. Jim was leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom, dressed in a t-shirt and pyjama bottoms. He shook his head, glancing between them.

“How come you two only get along when I’m not around?”

McCoy muttered something incoherent. Spock raised a brow.

“Perhaps you are an inciting factor, captain.”

Jim smirked. “So, I should just transfer the both of you onto a freighter ship together? Two man voyage?”

Both Spock and McCoy hastened to reject the idea.

“Well, in any case,” Jim said, strolling over with a grin. “Can I assume we’ve cancelled that urgent couples appointment?”

“Yeah, I think so.” McCoy got to his feet. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“Not at all. What’s your rush, Bones?” Jim flopped onto the bed, pulled Spock’s arms around him. “We were just getting to the good part. Spock was going to tell me how much he loves me, weren't you, darling?”

Spock frowned, began to say that it was not appropriate to repeat such things in front of the doctor. However, Jim pinched his arm, and combined with widened, indicating eyes, Spock recognized the subtext.

“Ah – yes - I was saying… that you are divinity itself. I wish to embrace you for all eternity.”

“Ooh, yes, my love,” Jim said, with overwrought yearning. “Keep going.”

In the background, McCoy produced a mock-retch, and quickly hastened to the exit.

“My _t’hy’la_, my beloved of all the universe.”

“Yes! Kiss me, sugar lips, make me yours!”

The doors swished shut.

Spock leaned back. “Sugar lips?”

Jim shrugged. “Well, I was going to say infant, but you already took that one.”

“Indeed, baby, I did.”

Giggling, Jim met him a brief kiss.

“Are you sure you still want that romantic time?” Jim traced a finger over his collarbone. “We have an unfortunate tendency to get interrupted at the best moments.”

“I am willing to take that risk.”

Nevertheless, Spock placed a hand on his chest, preventing him from, as humans said, ‘planting one’ on him again.

“Jim, I have a request. I know it may not have basis in logic, but I should be much obliged if you consented nonetheless.”

“Of course! Your wish is my command, commander.”

Spock pressed his lips together for a moment, reticent to voice his desire. Jim appeared to notice. He shifted forward, ran the back of his fingers against Spock’s cheek.

“It’s ok, whatever it is,” he murmured, tenderly. The look in his eyes affirmed the words. “You can trust me.”

“I…” Spock looked downward. “I would like you to remove your shirt.”

The smile that grew on Jim’s lips evolved from surprised to positively flirtatious.

“Mm,” he hummed, coyly. “Under the right conditions I could be persuaded.”

Spock leaned closer, pleased that Jim giggled in anticipatory thrill as his approach lowered them onto the sheets.

“Name your terms, _ashayam_.”

“Well.” Jim’s hand wound around the back of his neck. Their noses brushed, foreheads skimmed the other. His hazel eyes fluttered open for a moment, then down to Spock’s lips. “I wouldn’t mind if you removed yours too.”

And that was a compromise Spock was more than willing to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who's read this story, and left comments and kudos! Love y'all! <3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, thanks for reading! I'm back at last! After juggling a thousand ideas, I settled on a semi-sequel to my other story "Interspace". The idea for this story was partly inspired by several lovely comments I received - so if you ever need an incentive to leave a comment, there you go! 
> 
> Standard disclaimer, I'm ace, and always love writing Spock as ace too. Good ace representation is hard to find, so this is me doing my part. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! And come and yell at me on my Tumblr at fictionandtheatre.tumblr.com


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